Class wraps up, and my mind is still buzzing from listening to Dr. O’Rourke share a case study. It was mostly monologuing, but God, his passion.
And fuck all, I’m hot, bothered, and wet.
Thinking he’s about to dismiss us, I brace myself for the view of his ass in his tight jeans. But he doesn’t leave. He just stares at everyone with a curious expression. I glance around and see the women sitting up a little straighter, leaning in to hang on his every word.
“One thing before I dismiss you, I know you all have your lab and simulator assignments. I’m in need of volunteers to do on-call work with me,” he announces, voice even, carrying a weight I’ve never heard before from him. “It’snotsimulator work. I’m talking real emergency prep. But not in a controlled and reliable environment like an emergency department. It won’t be often, but when these calls come in, they will be…demanding. If your focus is trauma and emergency medicine and your schedule is open, meet me in my office right after class.”
Half the women in the lecture hall practically levitate with excitement. I watch Dr. O’Rourke leave without looking at me, and I’m not sure how to take that. He knows my focus is emergency medicine.
My scheduleisfull with additional classes to catch up. Which is why I couldn’t keep my EMT job or even go part-time. But the chance to work hands-on with an astute doctor like Cormac O’Rourke in a real-world emergency setting is worth less hours sleeping. I can burn the candle on the other end. I have to at least look into it.
By the time I reach his office, there’s a line waitingoutside the door. But then a slow parade of disappointed young women leaves his office. They pout and mutter curses under their breath. He rejected all of them.
Is it because they’re women? All of them are smart. You don’t get into Hamiltonandmake it to MS-3 by lacking anything. Could he want…me? My chest swells with something that feels greedy.
When it’s my turn, I knock once and step inside.
Two male students stand at attention in front of Dr. O’Rourke’s desk like soldiers awaiting orders. Voss and Mercer both hail from medical dynasties. Both are legacy students whose parents probably have their family names on hospital wings.
Dr. O’Rourke’s eyes flick to mine in surprise, widening for half a heartbeat before sliding back to neutral.
“Ford,” he says calmly. Too calm. “What can I do for you?”
“You said you need a team,” I counter, moving into the room. “I’m here to apply.”
Voss stiffens like he thinks the professor will pick me because of my last name. It’s more likely he’ll exclude me solely because we had sex.
Mercer shoots me a smirk like he thinks my being on the team will get me intohisbed.
Dr. O’Rourke sits back in his chair, studying me, his gaze doing a small once-over. Not to check me out in any kind of sexual way. We’re all dressed the same. Jeans, T-shirts, hoodies. This is medical school, not charm school.
The professor is looking at me like he still can’t handle being so close to me. “Voss. Mercer. I’ll be in touch. Go.”
They leave, grinning like good little pets. When the door clicks shut, the space between the hot professor and me turns cramped with tension. Again. This seems to be the place where we can pretend the real world doesn’texist.
Cormac crosses his legs and taps his fingers on the desk blotter. Staring me right in the face, he says, “Scarlett…” His voice comes out low, deep enough to scrape along my spine. “I’m sorry. No.”
“No, what?” I challenge, closing in on his desk. “No to me? No to women? Because that’s what all your groupies will think.”
His jaw jumps. “You know that’s not it.”
“Which one?” I fold my arms and tap one foot.
“It’s already hard enough that you’re my student,” he says. “You have no idea how much control it takes not to touch you.”
“You’re doing fine,” I whisper, because he shows no real interest in me at all. If he’s struggling, it’s a private war he’s battling alone.
Then something in his expression shifts, his eyes narrow, and his brows pinch together. The chair jerks, and he leans forward on his desk.
“A condition of my full-time employment is that I must be in a stable relationship before your father offers me a position.”
I blink and drop into the chair across from him. “Relationship?”
“Marriage,” he deadpans, acid in his tone. “Your father expects me to be married by the end of the semester.”
My heart clogs my throat. Why does that bother me?
“What does that have to do with?—”